


Just a Cut

by NoxuTheAutomaton



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Second fanfic - still bad, Smooching, Wilson touches maxwells face, for medical reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 20:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14197092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoxuTheAutomaton/pseuds/NoxuTheAutomaton
Summary: Another short Maxwil drabble.





	Just a Cut

"You _do_  realise that hurts, don't you?"

"And do _you_ realise you don't have to complain about it so much?"

Maxwell sighed the kind of sigh that would indicate that he had just suffered a terrible and dramatic fatal wound and was preparing to give his last words to a cold, unforgiving world - but made no move to stop Wilson. The scientist-turned-temporary-medic only rolled his eyes and continued with his work, which, at this moment, was cleaning the deep cut along Maxwell's forehead. The coarse brush of the cloth might have been nice if not for the stinging of cold water against open flesh.

They were both sat on the ground in Wilson's tent, despite protests from Maxwell, who could _definitely_  do it himself, and who was resolutely attemping to ignore Wilson and focus on the odd mishmash of machines that lay in states of half-construction or half-deconstruction on various workbenches. Why exactly he was letting Wilson do this was beyond him, but it was too late to back out now anyway.

"Okay, that _should_ be clean enough! Well, as clean as it's getting."

Wilson was a tad cheerier than the situation called for, in Maxwell's opinion. He muttered something else , but Maxwell was a little distracted as they were suddenly much closer together, Wilson's hands tilting his head ever so slightly upward. Like this, Maxwell sitting with his long legs spread out in front of him and Wilson kneeling between them, they were almost the same height for once.

"Hello?" Wilson was waving a hand in front of his face, wearing an expresion half way between exausperated and bemused.

"Are you even listening to me? I said I'm going to put the salve on now. I thought you'd want a warning considering how much you were moaning earlier."

Nodding in confirmation, he bit back the urge to question about exactly how sanitary it was to apply an antiseptic (a 'homemade' antiseptic) with bare hands. Instead he let his eyes shut, head still tilted at that weird angle, in preperation for the discomfort. When Wilson was finally ready, which seemed to take an eternity, Maxwell flinched at the contact. But for all the scientist's teasing words, his hands were gentle, applying careful pressure, and the half of Maxwell that was still lonely and touch-starved from the Throne told him to relax back against those hands.

' _How embarassing'._ The obvious response to that thought was to pull away, but that only rewarded him a hand under his chin pulling him back into position - along with a slight 'tsk'. Maybe it would be better if he opened his eyes; it was Higgsbury after all, how relaxed could he _be_ when he'd seen how well the scientist's medical "expertise" could turn out. Wilson's face was tensed in concentration, brow lowered, mouth just slightly open. Okay, that made it worse somehow, to have such focus on him. He quickly closed his eyes again.

It wasn't like he was supposed to enjoy this, it was just neccesary if he didn't want to bleed out from a head wound in his sleep. But it was calming and the methodical way Wilson's fingers caught along the edge of the cut was not... unpleasant, despite the sting the salve left behind, and he couldn't help a quiet, pleased hum that seemed all too loud in the cramped tent. He supposed it couldn't hurt to relax a little, could it?

* * *

 

Wilson was also a little distracted. Maxwell was normally so distant and proud, but right now he was so, so human. He in no way could be described as a clingy, but there was a certain fondness in his eyes when he spoke with Wendy, or when he ruffled Webber's fur when he thought no-one else was looking, that brought a fuzzy feeling to Wilson's chest. It was sort of nice that the closed-off magician trusted him this much; even if he did act grumpy about it. Admittedly, he acted grumpy about alot of things.

His train of thought was disrupted, by a low noise from Maxwell that he half-heard and half-felt through his fingertips. Ah, he'd lost his concentration; he'd probably been too rough. Wilson let his free hand stroke ever so gently over Maxwell's temple, an attempt to comfort him. Honestly, why a little cut bothered him so much; hadn't he been through worse on the Throne? Maybe he hadn't, it wasn't exactly a subject that was open for discussion.

The tent seemed too quiet, too still, in the absence of some life-threatening attack on camp, or the frequent and, at times, annoying interuptions of other survivers. The silence felt intimate and incredibly awkward. Wilson's hand was still tracing along the sharp angles of Maxwell's brow and cheekbone, and the hard floor was begining to dig into his knees. His heart was beating against his ribs.

'Get a hold of yourself!' He was giving medical attention. Nothing else. The- the salve was probably fine now, and he should be putting bandages on. But he wasn't. Instead he was thinking about how oddly soft Maxwell's skin was as he ran his hands slowly, slowly, down - his thumb brushing at the corner of the magician's mouth, but there was that low noise again. Wilson pulled his hands away, and Maxwell's eyes fluttered open.

"Higgsbury?"  
They were very close now and Wilson couldn't stop himself. He pressed forward and their lips met, hot and sudden. And just as suddenly they broke apart, a loud crash and shout about something or other from outside breaking the silence. Maxwell cleared his throat.

"You-you should probably put bandages on this."

"O-oh, uh, yes."

Sometimes Wilson really hated the rest of the camp.


End file.
